


Ah, you think you're so pretty

by onvavoir



Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Femdom, Light Bondage, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-15
Updated: 2015-05-15
Packaged: 2018-03-30 11:49:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3935725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onvavoir/pseuds/onvavoir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Foggy and Matt have a history, and Karen has a dirty mouth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Based on [this prompt](http://daredevilkink.dreamwidth.org/725.html?thread=1109717#cmt1109717).
> 
> Title from [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5yXqRiXMru0).

"Did I ever tell you that I thought about becoming a dominatrix?" Karen asks.

They are sitting on the sofa in her apartment, dinner and two drinks into a nice, quiet evening.

Foggy fakes a cough and says, "I'm sorry, what?"

Matt shakes his head and lifts his glass of whiskey to his lips. To all appearances, his response is more understated. Silently, he reminds himself that Foggy and Karen can't hear his heart beat a little faster at the memories and associations she's just triggered.

"That's hard to imagine," Matt says.

And it is. There's steel in her, buried deep within an optimistic outlook that he respects but doesn't understand, enclosed within sunny cheerfulness, like a knife concealed in a bright pink lipstick tube. Privately, he still wonders what she's been hiding from them, but he won't ask. He supposes it's fair enough to let Karen have secrets of her own.

" _Very_ hard to imagine," Foggy says. "Like, what's the story behind this? Did you just decide one day that you wanted to smack dudes around for a living?"

She ducks her head, and the temperature of her skin rises a little. How can she simultaneously be so cute and so unknowable?

"I was in college. It seemed like a good way to make money, no sex required..."

Foggy's mouth hangs open a little.

"Why, Ms Page, you are full of surprises."

"I didn't end up doing it," she adds quickly.

"Why not?" Matt asks. "Too weird?"

She shakes her head and sends a little whiff of her perfume and hair products his way.

"High start-up costs. Do you know how much a rubber catsuit _costs_?"

Once again, Foggy has a beer bottle to his mouth when she says this, and while Matt can tell he's exaggerating his near-spit-take for comic effect, his pulse definitely quickens a little. Whether it's out of discomfort or interest is unclear. Matt homes in on it and listens carefully.

"Not to mention all that leather," Matt says. "Equipment, dungeon rental..."

Karen is looking at him, possibly amused, possibly curious, definitely tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. Foggy nudges him with an elbow.

"Matt gets a weekly spanking at Madame DeVille's House of Pain. 'S a Catholic thing."

He shrugs, and Matt elbows him back. For a moment, no one says anything.

"Sorry--" she starts. "I didn't mean to cause an awkward moment. So, um, how 'bout that local sports team?"

"No awkward moment," Foggy says. The warmth in his face says otherwise. "I try not to judge. Unless you're into goats. You're not, are you?"

She laughs, head tipped back. 

"No, I am not. To be honest, I don't really think I could have pulled it off. It takes a certain kind of..."

"Control," Matt says, and both their heads swivel to look at him. "What? You think they don't print dirty books in Braille?"

"You would be the expert," Foggy admits. "But wait, wouldn't that make it kind of difficult..."

He simulates reading with one hand and tries to mime jerking off with the other, only his hand moves completely the wrong way, and Karen laughs again.

"I hope that's not how you jerk off," Matt jokes.

He fits the rim of his glass to the smile curving his lips and takes a moment to revel in the moment of surprise he's incited. He shouldn't be doing this, not with Karen, not with Foggy, not with _both_ of them, but Foggy will change the subject soon enough. It takes a moment for Matt to remember, for him to catch on that maybe the reason Foggy's gone silent is because he remembers how good Matt's hearing is and is recounting all the times he jerked off in college while Matt was in the room. (Quite a few, but Matt knows when to mind his own business.)

"How 'bout we take the proportion of conversation about Foggy jerking off to about zeeeroooo?" Foggy asks. "Filthy perverts, both of you."

Matt shrugs as if to say _guilty as charged_. He can sense Karen looking at him, and he wonders if she's wondering the usual things.

 _Do you watch porn?_ (Not exactly.)

 _Have you ever been to a strip club?_ (Once, is his stock response. Turns out being blind doesn't mean you get to touch the girls, ha ha.)

(He's never been to a strip club.)

"Everyone masturbates, Foggy," Karen says with exaggerated nonchalance. "It's not a big deal."

This time Foggy's pulse trips up and stays in higher gear, likely because of the same thoughts that are making Matt keep his whiskey glass cradled in his hand. Karen. Masturbation. Distraction. Protection. Karen's heart is also beating a little faster, and Matt realises with a jolt that none of them have steered the conversation away from sex into safer territory.

This is bad. They're not just his friends, but his colleagues. They see each other every day. If things get weird, they will get _weird_.

And yet.

Karen has a thumbnail caught between her teeth. Foggy's head is down, warm-faced, too embarrassed right now to look at either of them. Matt's gaze reaches out across the room at nothing. He keeps his face unreadable. 

"So... have you like, done that to a dude? Ordered him around and stuff? Sorry, that is none of my business, I'm sorry, I'm just going to stop talking now."

The lightness of laughter has given way to something heavier, and Matt knows that somewhere nearby is the point of no return. Shouldn't. Can't. Won't. Can't. Shouldn't. But the thought...

"Um, not really. I did have a boyfriend once who was into... oh god, why am I telling you this? I am also going to stop talking. No talking, for either of us."

"Well you can't just start a sentence like that and not finish it!" Foggy says. 

She sighs in exasperation.

"He was into... verbal... stuff."

"What, like... dirty talk?"

She fidgets.

"Well, sometimes, but more like... being called names. You know. That kind of thing."

There's a moment of excruciating quiet before Foggy, bless him, takes things back around to humour.

"Well. He did find the right person for the job."

"Foggy!" she chastises.

"For real, though! This girl's got a potty mouth-- I don't know why I'm telling him, Matt's heard you. He said so. You know he's got really sensitive hearing, right? He said we should fire you, but I was like, no, she's a good secretary, so what if she lets an F-bomb fly once in a while? As long as it's not in front of a client."

"You are a lying sack of shit," Matt says with a laugh, mostly just to throw into the ante of carefully constructed jocularity.

"You're terrible!"

He recognises the tone in their voices, the half-hearted protracted flirting of people who are all waiting for someone else to make a move, hoping, maybe fearing, but definitely anticipating something. Nerves tweak at his stomach. 

"Just for that, I should tell her some h--horror stories," he says. "What was her name? Mel-- Melanie? Melinda?"

"Melody!" Foggy wails. "God, I'm never gonna live that down. She was..."

If Foggy recognises what he's doing, he knows why Matt is doing it, and if he doesn't abruptly change the subject, Matt knows what that means. He knows already, really. He gets up, and for a second Matt thinks he's making a run for it.

"I need another beer. Anyone want one?"

"Yeah, get me one," Matt says.

"Noooo, I'm good," Karen says. "I haven't finished this one yet."

He walks to the fridge, the soft sound of the door opening, clink of bottles, and then he returns to sit between them. His heart rate is still up, but steadied. He hands Matt a beer, and when their fingers touch, Matt hears him swallow hard.

"She was _what_ ," Karen teases. "'You can't just start a sentence like that and not finish it!'"

Foggy shakes his head.

"It was _so_ awkward. Quite possibly the most awkward thing I've ever experienced. Hell, I'm having an awkward flashback just thinking about it."

He takes a drink of his beer. He's buying some time, Matt thinks. Deciding whether or not to bring this piece of information into play.

"Come onnnnn."

"Right, so, we're in my room, right? And we're gettin' friendly-- Matt's at the library, like the frickin' nerd he is, so we've got the room all to ourselves. Things are getting kinda hot and heavy, and of course, of course that's when Matt 'King Cockblock' Murdock decides to come back to the room."

Karen laughs, and Matt laughs. Foggy continues shaking his head. Again, Matt wonders if he's re-examining that particular anecdote in light of what he now knows about Matt.

"At least I had the decency to knock," Matt says.

"That's true, I will give you that. Matt's like, Foggy, are you busy? And I'm like, yeah? Kinda!? So I tell Melody that my _roommate's_ back, like, maybe we can go to her place now or something. And she just turns to me and says, 'That's okay, he can join in too!'"

There's a muffled breathy sound as Karen claps her hand over her open mouth. She clears her throat and then asks, all innocence and shock, "And did you?"

"No!" Foggy says. "And Matt must've heard her, because I can _hear_ him in the hallway, cracking up, which totally ruins the mood. So she gets dressed and leaves--"

"And Foggy says, 'Call me!' which made me lose it again."

"You were practically on the floor, crying. I was _so_ mad. I swear to god you used to do that on purpose."

Matt says nothing but smiles impishly. At least, he hopes that's what it looks like. He drinks his beer to give his hands and mouth something to do.

"I hope you made him sleep in the hallway," Karen says.

"Nah, it was okay in the end."

On the verge of it, Foggy chickens out.

"Did you at least apologise?" she asks. "That's pretty impressive, seducing his lady friend through a door."

"I said I was sorry, and he threw pencils at me until I tackled him."

Matt pulls the pin.

"And then I blew him."

He takes a drink from his beer bottle as the grenade drops. Karen makes a breathy noise that could be a gasp or could be an aborted laugh, her mouth partially covered by her hand. She's probably trying to decide whether Matt's joking, and-- if he's not-- how to respond.

"Um. So, do you guys do that sort of thing a lot?"

Foggy shrugs. "Once in a blue moon. Mostly it was a college thing."

"I thought you were both... well... straight."

"Oh, we are. Mostly." Matt considers it for a moment. "It's like... peanut butter and chocolate."

Foggy snorts into his beer, and Matt, smiling, casually lifts his middle finger, still looking in Karen's direction.

"Most of the time I don't really think about it. But every once in a while, I get a craving."

This time Karen does laugh, and rightly so. It's a pretty silly simile. 

"What kind of chocolate?" she asks, and there's mischief in her voice.

Matt smiles again.

"Dark chocolate."

"I'm... really not sure I'm comfortable with where this is going," Foggy says. "And now I want chocolate. Thanks, assholes."

"I might have some dark chocolate gelato in the freezer," Matt offers, and he hears something that is definitely the sound of Foggy mockingly saying _gelaaaaato_ under his breath. "Shut up, it tastes better."

"I hate when he does that," Foggy mutters.

There's a moment of pause that any of the three of them could use to change the subject, but there's also a frisson of intrigue. Matt wonders if Karen thinks it's sexy. Certainly he's met women who do. He wonders if she'd want to watch, and then he reins in his imagination. He can hear her nails picking at the label of the beer bottle. Fidgeting. Not going anywhere, though. Waiting for something to happen. He thinks about how to proceed.

"So... and you can tell me this is none of my business, because it _so_ is... have you guys, like..."

"Fucked?" Matt finishes.

"No way!" Foggy says. "That would be _gay_."

Matt cracks up. It's an old joke between the two of them, partly to address the tension of what exactly it means to be an ostensibly hetero guy sucking off his ostensibly hetero best friend, and partly just because it makes them laugh like 14-year-olds. Karen laughs with them, but it's a laugh that's not entirely present.

"When did all this start?" she asks, and god, she manages to sound so innocent. It's like she's asking about the weather or how long Foggy's collected comic books.

"College," they answer in unison.

She laughs. "Of course. I can see you two getting dared to do something and just..."

"This guy comes up to Matt--"

"He was an _asshole_ ," Matt interjects.

"This is a fact," Foggy says. "But anyway, he sidles up to Matt and says--"

***

"You could do so much better. I know you're blind, but."

"I'm sorry?" Matt says, frowning.

He's not sure what the guy is talking about, but his blood's already rising to the tone of his voice and the scent of his shitty Abercrombie and Fitch cologne. Then it hits him: _he means Foggy._ They've been mistaken for a couple before-- they find it pretty funny most of the time-- but this may be the first time anyone's had the gall to say something so rude to Matt's face. Serves them right for coming to an undergrad party.

" _What did you just say?_ "

He resists the urge to just punch the guy, although the hand not holding a drink clenches into a fist.

"What did you just say!" Foggy echoes-- loudly, in his _I'm mocking Matt Murdock_ voice, so he must not have heard. "What're you outraged about now, Murdock?"

"Hold this," he says, pressing his bottle into Foggy's free hand.

"Okay..."

The guy takes a step back, hands up. Much as Matt would like to hit him, there are many reasons why that's a bad idea. He's not sure this is a better one, but he can always blame it on drunkenness if he has to. He homes in on the sound of Foggy's voice. He turns and puts his hands on either side of Foggy's face, flushed warm from drink, and kisses him. Decisively.

To his surprise, Foggy doesn't push away, though there is a vibration as he attempts to say something into Matt's mouth. The pliancy makes Matt wonder suddenly if he's done something awful, if he's misjudged the dynamic of their relationship. It wouldn't surprise him-- he is Matt Murdock, king of bad decisions, after all.

When Matt's sure the point is made and the guy slinks away, he removes his tongue from Foggy's mouth and lets go. Foggy says nothing. He holds out Matt's bottle, slosh of beer inside, and Matt takes it back. Both their hearts are hammering.

"Wow. I know I'm a sex machine, but try to control yourself!" Foggy says.

Just like that, the moment breaks. He raps the back of his hand against Matt's chest, grins, and returns to his other conversation. Blood is still pounding in Matt's temples. He retrieves his cane from a corner and makes a swift exit, finds the door to the back porch and sits down in the cool night air. It clears his head a little.

A couple of minutes later he hears Foggy's Doc Martens in the hallway, approaching with what to Matt feels like wariness. He pushes the screen door open and then sits down.

"I'm-- sorry about that," he stammers.

A pause. "I just shrugged."

"That guy p-- pissed me off."

"Oh, is that how you manage your anger?" Foggy jokes. "Guess it's better than breaking stuff..."

He gives Matt a nudge that nearly knocks him off the steps. His heart is still beating a little too fast, but it slows as he sits there.

"Sorry, that wasn't cool."

"Well, I trust that scoundrel learned his lesson. That'll show him."

There's a brief repetitive sound-- Foggy shaking his fist-- and Matt grins. The feeling of being a clenched fist passes, and he manages a smile.

"I'm never gonna live that down, am I."

"Nope! Hope you're okay with that."

Matt shrugs. "It's hardly the most embarrassing thing I've ever done in front of you."

"No, I think the fountain incident forever holds that honour."

Foggy's heartbeat still hasn't gone all the way back to resting. He takes a breath, the way he does when he's about to ask something awkward.

"What did he do, anyway? You practically sucked my tongue off. Was he hitting on you?"

Matt considers. "Yeah."

"Douchebag." Another heavy pause. "So, not to be awkward or anything, but... if you're into dudes, I have some non-douchebag friends who think you're really hot. I just assumed you were into ladies exclusively, what with the Catholic thing and all-- not that it's any of my business-- god, Nelson, shut up."

Matt puts a hand on his shoulder, smiling.

"It's okay, Foggy. I'm... not, really, but. Not all of us are stuck in the 14th century."

Foggy nods. His beer bottle is empty, but he lifts it to his lips anyway. It's quiet except for the crickets in the corners of the yard and party noises drifting out of windows.

"So wait. What does 'not really' mean? I mean, you can tell me to fuck off, it's cool."

Matt shrugs. "Like, I've never... but you never know."

"Fair enough." Foggy is going to ask him something-- his heart's going full throttle, and he's holding his breath. "So you've never fooled around with a dude."

"Can't say I have."

"Do you want to?"


	2. Chapter 2

"And that's how that happened!" Foggy announces.  
  
Karen laughs. "Did you seriously just ask like that?"  
  
"Yes he did," Matt says.  
  
"Eh, subtlety is overrated. Anyway, it worked, so."  
  
He scritches at the back of Matt's head, and by now Matt is certain that the three of them are going to end up doing  _something_. It's just a matter of how long they're willing to pretend they won't. A three-person game of chicken.   
  
It hits him then, and he swallows. The slightest tang of salt and sex, like coming close enough to the ocean to smell it. He has to take a moment to compose himself. Everything's been so relaxed so far, he doesn't want to ruin it with frustration and impatience.  
  
"Peanut butter and chocolate," Karen murmurs, and he can hear the smile. "Can I watch?"  
  
This time Foggy really does inhale his beer, and he spends the next thirty seconds hunched over, coughing. Matt slaps him on the back, laughing. He doesn't answer the question.  
  
"I... am not equipped for this," Foggy says. "Matt. Help."  
  
Karen flutters a little, scoffing. Her heart's rabbiting, but she hasn't covered her face or run into another room. She wants an answer.  
  
"I thought you said subtlety was overrated! Oh my god, why did I say that."  
  
Matt recognises their awkward flailing for what it is-- denial of the inevitable-- and pulls his lip between his teeth to keep from smiling. If they could hear the triphammer of three different pulses, if they could smell...   
  
"Is it bad that that's not the weirdest thing anyone's ever said to us in this context?" he asks.  
  
"It... actually is not," Foggy says. "I am a degenerate. And so are you! And you!"  
  
"So nobody's in a position to judge!" Karen says. She's quiet for a moment, but wound up tight-- he can hear the joints in her hands as she squeezes them together. "I'll be quiet."  
  
"Actually," Matt says. "I think I'd really like it if you did the exact opposite."  
  
His face warms a little. There are rare, tightly boundaried circumstances where he explicitly states what he wants, but if someone doesn't stop prevaricating, they'll just drift into awkward, pointless coquetry. Once again Matt seems to have been charged with cutting through the defensive humour, right down to the core of things.  
  
"You want me to... be loud?" Karen asks.  
  
One last drink of his beer, his lips pulled into a moue. Matt sets the bottle on the table. Foggy's still silent, looking from one to the other. The great instigator is waiting for one of them to make the first move. Dick.  
  
"I want you to tell me what to do," Matt says.  
  
"What, like... order you around?"  
  
She laughs a little, but weaker now.  
  
"Only if you want to."  
  
She huffs out a breath. She's caught on to what Matt's already figured out. Feigning confusion any longer is just stalling. They're past the point of jokes and just-kiddings. Matt shrugs his jacket off one shoulder. It's suddenly a little too warm.  
  
"I didn't say you could take that off," Karen says sharply, and he freezes.

As far in advance as he saw this coming, Matt can't help but be surprised. An electric charge goes screaming down his nervous system and brings out goose pimples on his skin. He swallows.

"Okay, take the jacket off," Karen says, and it's not permission-- it's an order.

He takes a slow breath in through his nose, and then he shrugs out of the jacket and tosses it on a nearby chair. The whole sprawled evening has coalesced into a tight, taut wire that's wound around Matt's insides. Next to him on the sofa, Foggy is utterly silent. 

"And the tie. But keep it. We'll need it later."

Matt's breath catches-- and so does Foggy's-- and once his brain is capable of motor function again, he slowly reaches up to loosen his tie. He pulls it off and keeps it in his hand, rubs the silk between his fingers. His other hand tightens on his thigh. It kneads just a little, wool of his trousers on one set of fingertips, silk on the other.

"Matt," she says. "Stop that."

He splays his fingers. He's tempted to put his hands up, but he's not sure he's allowed that much movement. If Karen doesn't approve, she'll let him know. And probably punish him. Another chill rolls down his back. He lifts his hands a little, just to show that they're not touching anything they shouldn't be.

"Foggy, take the tie?"

Outrage wells up at her tone-- not cold and hard, but almost what she'd use in the office to ask him to hand her something nearby. It's very different from the tone she's using with Matt. Suddenly he's in school again, wanting to know why Foggy isn't being ordered around, and-- oh yes, that's probably the point.

"Uh... sure."

Shifting and sound of movement as Foggy reaches over to pick up the tie. His body radiates warmth.

"Tie Matt's hands behind him?"

"Oh god..." Matt chokes out.

There's a moment of quiet, Foggy looking from her to him. Maybe he's not sure if he should. Matt can hear him wind the tie through his hands, nervous, palms sweating.

"Do you want to continue, Matt?" she asks softly.

"Yes," he exhales hard.

"Foggy?"

There's a guttural sound as he swallows hard. The winding of the tie tightens around his fist.

"Oh god," he murmurs. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm..."

He doesn't finish the sentence-- doesn't need to. 

"Then please," Karen says.

They both move, Matt to the edge of the sofa cushion and Foggy behind him. When he takes Matt's right arm, Matt can feel the tremor in him. He loops the tie around Matt's wrists, fumbles a little.

"Uh, should I make it tight?" he asks.

A slight click and creak of tendon and bone as Karen tilts her head.

"No need. Matt's going to be good, aren't you, Matt?"

He nods, letting out a breath he hadn't realised he was holding. Foggy crosses the tie between Matt's wrists, ties the knot. It's probably more secure than it needs to be, but Matt likes the way the silk digs into his skin a little.

"I asked you a question, Matt," she says, low in her throat.

"Uh--"

"Are you going to be good?"

"Y-- yes."

The pull of the tie and his arms behind his back is distracting. He wants to test it, see how far he could stretch--

"What's my fucking name, Matt?"

His skin goes cold all over.

"K-- Karen! It's Karen."

"So when I tell you to do something, you're going to say 'yes, Karen.' Got it?"

He licks his lips and nods.

"What did I just say?"

"Y-- yes, Karen."

"Good."

The sinister sweetness in her voice makes him wonder just what she's capable of, how far she'd go. How much pain she'd inflict. He pushes the thought out of his mind. He's already half-hard, and they've only just gotten started.

"Foggy, help me move the table?"  
  
Again that easy, casual tone, as if they're in the office. Foggy and Karen stand up and grasp opposite ends of the low table. Matt's empty beer bottle topples and hits the rug with a hollow thump. Foggy bends down to retrieve it, and there's a gentle slap. Matt hears him jump back up.  
  
"Y'know, I'm kind of starting to feel objectified here."  
  
"Just wait," Karen chirps.  
  
He disappears to the kitchen to toss the bottle into the recycling. While he's in the next room, Karen leans down to murmur in Matt's ear.  
  
"You're being very good right now," she says, and how does she  _know_?  
  
She runs her fingers though his hair, and he pushes up into the touch like a cat. Her fingers drift down to his jaw, across his stubble. The fabric of her skirt rustles. She smells like perfume, a trace of coffee from this morning, vanilla from her shampoo, the beer, and oh yes, that quietly intensifying scent of sex and sea. Matt inhales her, and then she's away again before Foggy comes back.  
  
"Help Matt onto his knees," Karen says.   
  
Foggy's hands slip under his arms, lifting. He doesn't need the help, and no doubt Foggy knows, but it does give Matt the chance to feel the warmth of him through his clothes. He smells like the same beer as Karen, aftershave, and a base note that Matt knows simply as "Foggy." His knees sink into the rug, and he relaxes minutely. He's knelt on wood floors, asphalt, concrete. This is preferable.  
  
"Are you comfortable, Matt?"  
  
"Yes, Karen."  
  
There's the quiet sound of Foggy inhaling though his nose.   
  
"Jesus christ, that's hot," he breathes.  
  
"Isn't he pretty, Foggy?"  
  
"Yeah..."  
  
His voice is quiet, a little hoarse. Matt wonders if his throat is as dry as his own, and if his tongue is cleaving to the roof of his mouth. He can hear Foggy's hand move through his hair.  
  
Matt wonders if he's hard. He licks his lips. Maybe Karen will make him... he stops himself. Waits. It's a bad idea to move too far ahead in his mind. As soon as he thinks he knows what's coming, Karen will change the play. She's diabolical.  
  
"Take off your jacket, Foggy."  
  
A furious rustle of wool and cotton as he hastens to comply. The smell of him on the air intensifies a little. Matt pulls against the tie just to feel the resistance, the way it digs into his wrists. He can hear fibers breaking a little at a time, like his composure.  
  
"I bet you're a very tactile person, Matt," Karen says. "I bet you're dying to be touched."  
  
He swallows hard.  
  
"What now?" Foggy whispers--pointless, because Matt can hear him perfectly well anyway.  
  
"Let's start with kissing. I like watching boys kiss. Especially when it's just for me."  
  
Foggy makes the same noise in his throat that Matt would make, if he were capable.  
  
"Uhh, like, hard, or..."  
  
Karen laughs a little.  
  
"However you want, Foggy," she says, and god, the warmth in her voice. Matt's fiercely jealous of it. He juts his chin out a little, lip curled.  
  
"He likes when you touch his hair," Karen adds.  
  
"Now, that I did know," Foggy says. He pitches his voice a little lower, softer. "Along with a few other things..."  
  
Matt's heart leaps as Foggy hunkers down in front of him. His breath is a breeze on Matt's heated skin.  
  
"She's right, you know," he says. "You look really, really good like this."  
  
Matt licks his lips. He half-expects to feel the proximity of Foggy's lips, and he's disappointed when Foggy's hand combs through his hair instead. It does a tingle down the back of his neck. Fingers curl, catch a few locks of Matt's hair, and he pulls just a little. Matt groans.  
  
Behind Foggy there's a soft shuffling of feet as Karen moves to the side. Gentle grating as she drags a chair over. She sits down with a soft puff of air.  
  
(She wants to get a better view.)  
  
"If you could see what she looks like right now..." Foggy says. "Like a really sexy evil Bond villain."  
  
She laughs a little. "Stop stalling, Foggy. Kiss him-- like it's the first time you've ever done this."  
  
"So bossy," he mutters.  
  
Matt wants to tell him to shut up, not to to ruin the tension, but he's pretty sure that would get him in trouble. Possibly the kind of trouble that involves no touching at all. Instead he catches his lip between his teeth and lifts his chin a little. Foggy's so near, Matt wants to lean in and close the distance. His tongue flicks over his lower lip.  
  
It seems to take forever for Foggy to make the first hesitant contact, just the slightest brush of lips. Matt wants to surge forward, deepen it, but Foggy puts his hands on either side of Matt's jaw and holds him away. Then Matt remembers that Karen told him to play it like it's the first time. He sighs across Foggy's lips.

 ***

This is weird. It's beyond weird, and Matt doesn't know why they're doing it, apart from _because_. Curiosity is natural, he supposes. Otherwise Foggy wouldn't have asked. But they are sitting on the back porch of someone's house, which is maybe why neither of them has really moved.

"Should we-- go--"

"Yes!" Foggy says. "This party blows anyway."

"I told you it would."

Foggy repeats it, mocking, and shoulder-checks Matt as they're walking away. Matt swings his cane around and whacks Foggy in the legs with it.

"Ow! God, you're lethal with that thing."

"Gotta defend myself somehow," Matt says.

(You're more than capable of doing that)

He pushes anything that isn't the present moment down, into the cluttered desk drawer of his mind. Foggy takes his arm, and they amble back to campus, back to the dorms. By the time they return to their room, Matt's sure that Foggy's discarded the idea. The night air's given him the illusion of being slightly more sober, and their conversation back at the house feels less like a thing that happened and more like a weird dream.

"All right," Foggy says. "Let's do this."

Matt pauses. "Do what?"

"Seriously? Look, if you want to back out, that's cool. I get it."

"I didn't say that," Matt protests, and a moment later he clocks exactly what Foggy is doing. "... you son of a bitch. Did you just try to dare me into making out with you?"

"Pff, no." Foggy's heart rate rises, the fucking liar. "But you probably had some time to sober up, y'know, realise what you're doing."

The ploy is so obvious, and yet, Matt still taps across the room, walks right up to Foggy and stands toe to toe with him. He tosses the cane into the corner.

"I know exactly what I'm doing."

Foggy laughs. "You just said like ten minutes ago that you've never even kissed another guy! How can you possibly know what you're doing?"

"Oh please, it's not like you're a different species. Come--"

Matt's hands move fast from Foggy's chest to shoulders to the sides of his face, but Foggy's still ready when their lips meet. His mouth is slightly open, face tilted. Matt notes the texture of the goatee around his mouth, the slight rasp of stubble, and then Foggy puts his hands on Matt's hips and opens up to him completely. His mouth tastes like beer, until it gives way to the pink nothing taste of his tongue. He falls back a little, pulls Matt's hands from his face. It surprises Matt, how much that disappoints him.

"Jesus, Murdock, it's not a fight, would you..."

Foggy's large, warm hands cradle Matt's head, and he holds him steady. He slows it down with leisurely presses of his lips to Matt's. A touch of his tongue, which Matt returns. He smiles against Foggy's mouth. He's not sure why. Because it just feels nice, he supposes. Foggy's warm against him, the cable knit of his sweater a distracting texture underneath Matt's fingers. Matt lowers his hands and then slips them up under Foggy's T-shirt to touch warm skin.

"Whoa, there," Foggy says, utterly unconvincing. "Handsy, aren't ya?"

"I like to touch," Matt says. "I'm fucking blind, remember?"

They laugh a little, go back to kissing with measured enthusiasm. He traces a fingertip just above the waistband of Foggy's jeans, hipbone, slight curve of his belly, other hipbone. A shiver shakes Foggy's frame just slightly, and Matt smiles again.

***

Their elevations on the floor are different, and Foggy tips Matt's head up as their mouths meet in earnest. He still keeps Matt at a distance, doling out touches of lips and tongue with frustrating infrequency. When he finally seals their mouths together, Matt exhales hard through his nose and throws himself into it, bound hands be damned. Foggy's hands move down to his chest to counter him.  
  
"Easy," he murmurs.  
  
" _Matt_..." Karen warns, and he reins himself in. "God. You've got such a pretty mouth, especially when you do that."  
  
He's not quite sure what 'that' is, although his lips are parted in what feels like a snarl. He licks them and sits back on his heels. He lets out a shaking breath to try to slow himself down. It feels like he's going 80 miles an hour, and he hopes to god that no one decides to hit the brakes. The sofa is close behind him. He grounds himself by dragging his fingernail over the scratchy weave of it, back and forth. Foggy's hands come up to take his glasses off, sets them aside, and the loss makes Matt feel naked. He tries to lean up for a kiss, but his weight's too far back. Foggy holds him at bay with one hand.  
  
"So pushy," Foggy says, his voice directed away and over his shoulder.  
  
"Push him back."  
  
Foggy comes down, on his knees now, and Matt swallows hard as he braces himself on Matt's shoulder with one hand and straddles his lap. Of course he's hard, and Matt sputters out, "Jesus!" as Foggy pushes him back against the sofa. He rolls his hips, the press of his hard-on rubbing against Matt's dick through layers of fabric. He closes his mouth over Matt's.  
  
Matt's faintly aware of something outside the immediate heat and friction of Foggy against him. Karen. If he had to guess-- and he's good at guessing-- she's got the heel of her hand in her lap, pressing down. Sex rolls off her in waves, heavy in the air, and he groans at the next shift of Foggy's hips against him. He's dizzy when Foggy pulls back and glances over his shoulder.  
  
"Oh fuck, Matt, I wish you could see this. Karen's... her blouse is open. She looks... she looks ready to be fucked."  
  
His voice breaks on the last word. Matt hears the brush of her hair on her shoulders as she shakes her head.  
  
" _I'm_  not getting fucked..." she breathes.  
  
Matt's stomach twists itself into a hard knot. Everything seems to close in and focus on this single point in time. They've never done that. It always seemed to be the line in the sand, the outer limit of their exploration. One thing they never needed or wanted from each other. Not until now.  
  
"I've..." Foggy is still looking at her, then back at Matt.  
  
"I want to watch you fuck him," and her voice sounds like she's halfway to orgasm already.  
  
Before Foggy can reply, she's up out of the chair, running barefoot into the bedroom to open a drawer. Shuffling of things moving around inside it, and she comes back breathless and armed.   
  
"Ohhhmygod," Foggy says. He turns his face to Matt. His breathing is heavy, and his voice is barely more than a whisper. "You okay with this? Really okay?"  
  
Matt moans. He never would have thought, never could have imagined, but, "Yes, god. Please."

It's mortifying, his face would be warm even if he weren't hard and wanting, but suddenly he wants it more than anything. It's the only thing that matters.

"Ask for it," Karen says. "Ask him to fuck you."

It occurs to him, and not for the first time, that she might be a match for them. She's as breathless and heated as they are, but she's just pulled up the reins with brutal force.  
  
"Fuck me," he gasps. "Please."  
  
"Oh, god-- okay."

The scent and heat of Karen comes nearer. She hands Foggy a bottle that sounds half-full, and the familiar plastic crinkle of a condom in its wrapper. Something dark and heated blooms in Matt's body. They're really going to do this.   
  
"How..."  
  
"The sofa," Karen says. "Turn him around and... yes."  
  
Foggy slips away. Matt shivers, and then warm hands are on him, not just Foggy's but Karen's lighter, smaller hands. They move him into place, bent over the seat of the sofa. His shirt is damp, stuck to him. Karen undoes his suit trousers. Her nails scratch a little as she pulls them down, and Matt inhales hard with his face pressed into the rough weave of the cushion. They shift him again. All the resistance has gone out of him, all the fight. He surrenders to it.  
  
Then Foggy's slick finger trails up the inside of his thigh to press against his perineum, and Matt nearly jumps out of his skin. He whimpers into the sofa, trying not to tense up. Karen favours his bare ass with a brief loving stroke before she drops onto the sofa not far from him. One foot comes up and rests somewhere behind his head. She drags the toes of her other foot back and forth over the carpet. He can smell her, and when she doesn't scoot towards him he realises with a jolt that that's the point. He breathes her in, tastes her on his tongue. His awareness of Foggy's finger applying pressure, then penetrating him, is less stark. He still gasps, half muffled by the cushion, and Foggy presses his body to Matt's.  
  
"I've done this before," he assures him. "Shh, relax... you feel so good, Matt. Breathe for me."  
  
Foggy's voice hitches. He sounds almost as close to sobbing as Matt is. A second finger works its way inside him, and he silently prays for his own depraved soul. Foggy is hot, over and against him. One hand holds his hip to keep him from wriggling. Matt bites his lip at the pressure of Foggy's fingers on his hipbone. Karen opens her legs, just enough to roll a fresh wave of sex over him.  
  
"Oh god," Foggy gasps. "She's... she's got her hand down her skirt. I can see her panties, they're blue, oh god..."  
  
He can hear the movement of fabric-- thin cotton against her hand, twill against her thighs, the sofa underneath her as she shifts. A whine comes from somewhere, and Matt realises it's him. Foggy shifts-- sound of uncapping-- and then a cool slickness slides over his ass, over the third finger Foggy pushes into him. He cries out, and Foggy freezes.  
  
"Jesus, please, don't stop now, please god fuck oh god..."  
  
The sound of his own voice, desperate and undignified, seems to take on weight and push him down. He bites his lip and turns his head to bury his face in the sofa cushion, letting out a sound he's never heard himself make before. Karen moans. Matt can hear the wet slide of her fingers against her clit.   
  
"Do it--" she pleads, not commanding but now almost as desperate as Matt.  
  
Foggy eases his fingers out. There's a hollow ache there that Matt knows he'll feel tomorrow, but he knows that's not it by a long shot. He twists his neck around, the one bit of movement he's capable of, and his nose brushes against Karen's ankle. She gasps at the touch. She hasn't given him permission, but he's too far gone to care. He presses his lips to her ankle. All the breath leaves him as Foggy's cock nudges against him. It feels impossible, he's seen it, it won't-- but Foggy pushes in. He catches himself pushing back, arching into it.   
  
"Oh my god," Karen moans, and she sounds drunk. "Matt, you-- oh god-- you-- slut, god you're gorgeous..."  
  
The intensity of it hurts, more than the stretch. His nerve endings are a wildfire. Foggy takes his time, gentle and slow, but the drag of his cock makes Matt cry out again. He wrests control back from whatever force has his body and mind in a stranglehold. Wills his body to relax. He takes a slow, deliberate breath and braces himself, then pushes back onto the last inch of Foggy's cock, driving the breath out of him. Karen moans, higher pitched now, her hips bucking on the sofa.  
  
"Jesus," Foggy breathes. "She's... oh god, Karen... oh  _god_ , Matt, you're so tight, I can't-- oh fuck, ahh..."  
  
All Foggy can manage is the slightest movement, but he angles his hips just so, and it pushes his dick deeper, into a place that sends sparks up Matt's spine. He screams, into the cushion to muffle it. Foggy stops and then does it again, destroys him, still talking, moaning, the timbre of his voice rising along with Karen's. Matt  _feels_  when he comes, a throb in his cock as his body locks up and his voice trails off into a gasp for breath. It's not over for Matt, painfully aware of Foggy's weight on him and in him. He needs.  
  
He pushes back against Foggy, desperate. One hand braces against Matt's trembling back, the other on the sofa. Foggy presses a kiss to the nape of his neck, eases out, and Matt sobs. He's utterly empty.   
  
"Hey, hey..." Foggy murmurs, and he undoes the tie around Matt's wrists.  
  
He lets Matt slide back and down to fold into his arms. His mouth presses to Matt's shoulder, neck. His hand closes around Matt's cock, and that's all it takes. Matt comes hard, gasping. When he comes back to himself he's enveloped in Foggy's arms. Karen slides down to join them on the floor. She kisses Matt's damp cheeks, cradles his face. He can tell she's smiling.  
  
"You were so good, Matt," she whispers. "So good..."  
  
"So good," Foggy echoes.  
  
They whisper it to him a few more times-- good, so good, so pretty-- until Matt calms down. Karen puts his hand to her heart, thumping hard still. It all seems unreal, like a very strange and very hot dream. Matt lets himself drift in it. His head lolls, leaning against Karen's. Her hair tickles his cheek. They stay there for a period of time that seems achingly drawn-out and yet not long enough, until stiffness and pins and needles make them squirm.  
  
"Now what," Foggy sighs.  
  
Karen laughs. "That wasn't enough?"  
  
"No, I mean... whatever."  
  
"You should both stay here," Karen says, and Matt nods. He's not sure he can walk. Her fingertip trails down Foggy's collarbone. "You..."  
  
"Me?" His voice cracks.  
  
She laughs breathlessly. "Not now. Later. I want... your head between my thighs."  
  
"... yes ma'am."  
  
Matt sighs.  
  
"And then... I'm going to ride _you_ until I scream."  
  
He winces. "As long as I don't have to move."


End file.
